Make it Better
by captain-americano
Summary: Inspired by a prompt where Sam has a nightmare and Dean comforts him the way his mother used to, wee!cest if you choose to look at it that way (personally, I do) or it can be seen as wee!chesters if you prefer. Do not own any characters or songs or anything, please R&R!


**I asked for a prompt from one of my favorite tumblrs: carry-on-my-wayward-bitch and she obliged! So, here we go, a short ficlet, Sam-10, Dean-14.**

Dean was about to die, Sam was sure of it. The vampire had the upper hand and all Sam could do was sit and watch from the car. The vampire had lay a couple of painful wounds on the older brother, but Dean was still fighting, John lurking in the background, ready to intervene if he needed to. Sam was screaming and crying in the car, yelling at his father to help Dean, sobbing at Dean to back off - he was only sixteen, damnit! - but he was ignored by everyone.

The vampire has thrown Dean on the ground and is hovering over him, John still skulking away to the side, and Sam knows he will never see his brother alive again. But the vampire had knocked Dean down at a pretty convenient place and his long muscular arm shot out, reaching for his almost forgotten cross bow and aiming it straight for the vampire's heart.

As soon as the monster was dead, Dean was heading back to the Impala to get the salt, matches and kerosene. And Sam, through his tears, saw that something had changed in his brother's eyes, and that look terrified him just as much as the vampire almost killing Dean had. Sam lay down on the back seat of the Impala and closed his eyes so Dean wouldn't see his tears, and when he opened them again, he found himself looking at the popcorn ceiling of the latest crappy motel John had put the brothers in.

After a brief moment of being confused, Sam realized it was just a dream and let out a choked sob, half in relief and half in terror. Tears started pouring down his face as thick and heavy as they had in the dream and he jumped out of bed. He moved silently to his brother's bedside and looked at his sleeping form. Dean was fourteen again, not sixteen, not going on his first hunt, but still Sam couldn't bring himself to stop crying, he couldn't help but feel as though the dream was a premonition. As if his Sammy-Radar went off, Dean woke up and rolled over, laying his eyes on his distressed little brother.

"What happened, Sammy?" He asked in a soft, sleepy voice.

"Nothing, Dean, 'm sorry." Sam said, sniffing and turning back to his bed. He hated making Dean comfort him every time he had a bad dream, it was unfair, so he tried to deny it, even though the sole thing Sam wanted to do was crawl into his brother's safe, warm arms.

Dean caught his wrist and gently yanked him onto the bed. He pulled the covers over his baby brother and scooped him onto his lap.

"Tell me, Sam." Dean pleaded, always miserable when his brother was.

"Y-your first hunt. V-v-vampire." Sam sobbed. Dean pulled his little brother closer into his chest, holding him protectively.

"It's okay, Sammy, not real." Dean promised in a gentle tone.

"One day it'll happen." Sam sighed, tears pouring relentlessly down his small face.

"C'mon, Sam." Dean said, laying them down so they were lying beside each other. Dean still held Sam in close and Sam still cried.

"Hey, Jude, don't make it bad." Dean sung softly, rembering how his mother used to comfort him. He kissed the top of Sam's head, his hair was mussed from bed and Dean caught the scent of motel shampoo and another pleasant smell that couldn't be described as anything else but simply his little brother.

"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain," Dean sang slowly, his voice low, calming his baby brother. "Don't carry the world upon your shoulders..." Sam had stopped crying and snuggled closer into Dean.

"I'm sorry Dean." Sam whispered.

"Don't apologize, Sam, I'm here for you baby." Dean promised, pressing a warm kiss to his forehead. After a while Sam had drifted back to sleep, but Dean was still awake, murmuring the words to Hey Jude. He felt guilty that his brother had to carry the terror of their lifestyle around with him.

He wanted so much for Sam to have a better life, to not know exactly why he should be afraid of the dark. He instinctively pulled Sam a little closer as though he, a meek fourteen year old, could protect him and make his life better. A lone tear slipped down Dean's face and he absentmindedly ran his fingers over the amulet Sam had given him a couple of years ago.

"Then you'll begin to make it better..."


End file.
